


There Is No Sweeter Innocence than Our Gentle Sin

by Anonymous



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Biting, Demon AU, Dubious Consent, Eddie Kaspbrak getting continually more disgusted with men for 14k words, Emetophobia, Emotional Abuse, F/F, Fem Reddie, Graphic rape attempt, Homophobia, Murder, Physical Abuse, Possession, Religious Guilt, Slut Shaming, Sonia Kaspbrak’s A+ parenting, Use of D-slur, Victim Blaming, Vomit/gagging, dubcon, key word: attempt, lesbian reddie, religious trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:47:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26241379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “You- you were in my dream last night,” Eddie blurts, her face burning. “We- you were at this club, and-““I know,” Richie quirks an eyebrow, kicking her leg back over the motorcycle. “I’m sorry, I can’t stay long.”“Wait, what do you mean you know?” Eddie asks, cocking her head.Richie just smiles that mysterious smile before she throws her helmet back on, revving her engine for show.“It’ll all make sense soon, sweetheart,” she says, “you just have to stop lying to yourself first.”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak
Comments: 6
Kudos: 64
Collections: Labor Day Book Quote Challenge (2020)





	There Is No Sweeter Innocence than Our Gentle Sin

**Author's Note:**

> huge shoutout to the amazing @bimmyshrug for letting me be a part of this awesome challenge! my quote was: “ Maybe he’ll tell me I have that kid cancer, Eddie thought wildly, leukemia. Jesus!” this fic was so much fun to write. PLEASE heed the tags before you continue, and if you need anything tagged that i left out don’t be shy to reach out <3

When Eddie was little, she would often wonder what the consequences of not believing in God were. 

There was hellfire; that much was obvious. If you didn’t believe in God, you went to hell and burned for eternity in a pit of flames. She had learned that from Sunday school when she was four years old. 

_ But surely there must be other consequences,  _ she had thought to herself in church one morning, her white tight-clad legs crossed as the pastor rambled.  _ Surely people who don’t believe in God will pay for it while mortal until they repent, don’t they? _

When someone at the church got sick, like when her Auntie Myrtle got cancer, the pastor always urged the congregation to pray. They had to pray all day and night, asking God to make Auntie Myrtle better and bless her with a long life. 

Maybe  _ not praying _ had the opposite effect: if you didn’t pray, you got sick. 

Eddie didn’t want to get sick— that’s why mommy wouldn’t let her play with other kids, and why she always had to take her medicine each morning. Mommy was terrified Eddie would get very very sick one day and never get better, and Eddie would get her angel wings far too early. Eddie was terrified of that too; although she knew heaven was a nice place, and she would be with the Heavenly Father, what if she wasn’t? What if she burned in hell like the sinners of the world?

That’s why Eddie prayed every day, and loved Jesus with her whole heart. She couldn’t get sick, she didn’t want God to  _ make her _ sick. If she made God mad, he would unleash hell upon her in her mortal form. 

_ He’ll give me AIDS, like mommy’s friend in New York,  _ Eddie had convinced herself one morning while mommy curled her hair before church,  _ or the cancer that makes your bones go all soft.  _

In the car, she had stared out of the window and watched the buildings go by in a blur. Mommy told her she had an active imagination, but God is vengeful to those who make Him mad— Eddie thought that her deductions were very rational. God knows Eddie is scared of being sick, as He knows everything. 

She had voiced her concerns to Pastor Fred, who had just patted her on the head and told her that although sinning is human nature, she’s a good girl, isn’t she? She does her chores and obeys her mother and prays everyday, so why would God be mad at her? 

But Eddie felt like she was doing something wrong, even when she was little. 

Her heart always ached when Mrs. Hanscom read the stories of the bible to the children in Sunday school. She especially hated Leviticus— when Mrs. Hanscom read the scriptures she always made sure to emphasize that  _ Man shall not lie with another man.  _ She always looked as if she had eaten a lemon when she read about homosexuality in the good book. 

It made a sense of guilt creep around Eddie’s shoulders like a fog, although she didn’t quite know why. 

Perhaps she thought it was just because it’s wrong to hate someone; that was how she justified it as a child. Homosexuality  _ was  _ wrong, but when Pastor Fred and Mrs. Hanscom and mommy talked about how disgusting the gays were, they were being hateful. Christ always said to love thy neighbor. 

_ Only God can judge,  _ Eddie would think to herself as the adults spewed hatred around her,  _ but… maybe they’re right.  _

Still, the idea of homosexuality made a part of her awaken, a part of her that she’d pushed down from the age of 10. 

Even now, at the age of 18, about to graduate high school and run headfirst into the world, she feels sick to her stomach. 

“Are you coming to the youth group tonight?” Mike asks as Eddie grabs her trigonometry textbook from her locker, “I heard Bill is supposed to be there.” 

She wiggles her eyebrows, popping the lapels on her jacket. 

“I’ll try,” Eddie slides the book in between her legs to adjust her pigtails. “If I don’t have to stay after school for trig.”

“Dude, just skip. Johnson’s so chill, she’ll be like  _ sure,”  _ Mike pantomimes holding a pair of glasses up to her own face. 

“She doesn’t talk like that,” Eddie smiles as she tugs at her right pigtail, making sure it’s tight. “You’re just dramatic. Besides, Bill is there every night. It won’t be my last chance ever.” 

Mike just snorts, linking her arm through Eddie’s. 

“We get our test scores back today. I might pass,” Eddie says, “so don’t completely lose hope.”

“If you don’t come I’ll probably cry,” Mike shrugs, earning a shove on the shoulder from her friend. 

“Drama queen. You gotta go,” Eddie kisses her cheek, “and hey, if you see Bill tonight and I’m not there, tell him hi for me, okay?” 

“You’re the worst,” Mike says affectionately, “call me.”

She dips into the Spanish classroom, leaving Eddie alone in the hallway. 

It’s not that Eddie doesn’t like Bill— he’s nice enough, he wears sensible clothes and is devoted to Christ. He plays baseball on the school’s varsity team, and works at animal shelters on the weekend. 

Eddie has even gone out with him on a few dates before to the ice cream parlor, and on a picnic, and it was nice. They held hands and Eddie pecked his cheek at some point, and Eddie had thought to herself,  _ If I have to settle down with anyone, it should be him. I’m supposed to be attracted to him. One day we’ll move in together into a house on a cul-de-sac and have two kids and a dog, and then I’ll be happy.  _

But kids means having sex with him, Eddie knows, and even if they were married the idea makes her squirm. He seems like he would cry during sex, or say something weird, and frankly she does  _ not  _ like the idea of that. 

_ Sex just makes you uncomfortable because it’s unholy,  _ Eddie reminded herself as she rounded the corner,  _ on your wedding night, it will be totally natural.  _

Even then, the idea of Bill’s sweaty, large body on and inside of her made her cringe. 

School passed in a haze most days for Eddie. She was smart, struggling in math occasionally but generally made A’s and B's. Sonia always told her to take advantage of the beautiful brain God had given her— she could have ended up like her cousin Jean, who had autism. 

Of course, that comment always infuriated Eddie; Jean was actually very smart, probably smarter than her, and helped her with her math homework when Eddie’s aunts and uncles and cousins would come over for dinner. 

But a good girl holds her tongue and respects her elders, even if they’re not always the kindest or the most intelligent people alive. 

_ Only God can judge.  _

The rest of the day is boring. She passes her trig test with a B+ (that still wasn’t good enough, but better than the C she’d gotten on her last test), which means she could go to the youth group tonight. 

_ Oh, yay.  _

“Hey, I can come tonight,” she catches up to Mike in the hallway after the last bell rings, jogging up to her. 

“Yes!” Mike cheers, slinging an arm around her shoulder. “I’m getting a ride from Bev to McDonalds, then we’re gonna hang out at his house for a while before we go. You wanna come with?”

“I’ll pass,” Eddie offers her a thin smile, noticing the gray clouds gathering above in the sky. “Gosh, I hope it doesn’t rain.”

“Bev would be happy to give you a ride,” Mike nudges her, “ _ please?” _

“I have homework,” Eddie says, “but I’ll see you tonight, okay?” 

“Fine,” Mike pouts at her before kissing her cheek, heading off in the other direction. 

_ Just seven more months of this. You can do it.  _

Realistically, Eddie knows that even once she’s graduated she won’t be leaving Derry. But at this point anything is better than high school— each day repetitive and dull, like eating mashed potatoes for dinner each night.

She has it all planned out. She and Bill will move to the cul-de-sac near her mother’s house, and Bill will get a job as a construction worker or an accountant or something sensible. She’ll teach Sunday school and take care of their children, one boy and one girl. 

And that’s much better than her current situation, much different, right?  _ Right?  _

She thinks a tear falls down her face for a moment, a droplet rolling down her cheek. 

_ Why am I crying?  _ she wonders briefly before another drop rolls down her face, more and more coming faster. Rain starts to fall down on her, wetting her hair and soaking through her clothes. 

_ Oh, no.  _

November rain is cruel and cold, absorbing through her skin and sweeping into her bones.  _ Why, Jesus?  _ she wonders faintly, shivers going down her spine. Her house is only a mile away, she’d be warm and safe in 20 minutes, but  _ god  _ she’s so wet already, it’s so cold and miserable… 

_ God is testing me.  _

She grits her teeth as she walks under the foyer of the Jade of the Orient, glad to get a break from the pouring rain on her head. 

She’s still shivering, her soaked sweater sticking to her arms. She doesn’t have any money to buy an umbrella, so really her only option is to suck up God’s punishment and—

“Hey sweetheart, need a ride?” 

Eddie’s head whips up, her wet pigtails smacking against her face. 

A woman who couldn’t be younger than 35 has parked her motorcycle on the curb, the vehicle black and shiny like the back of a beetle. 

The woman is wearing all black too; a leather jacket and black jeans, a shiny black helmet over her face that just barely exposes a pair of shining blue eyes. 

Eddie knows she shouldn’t trust her. Every bone in her body tells her not to trust a stranger in all black on a death trap of a motorcycle— but she feels oddly…. safe in the woman’s gaze, as if she was someone she remembered from a long time ago. 

As if she knows her like an old friend, even though they had just met seconds before. 

“Who are you?” Eddie steps forward cautiously, keeping herself a safe distance away from the woman. 

“Just a civilian trying to help a pretty young lady out,” she takes off the helmet, letting free a head of wild black curls. She’s not pretty, but there’s something undeniably attractive about her;  _ she’s handsome,  _ Eddie realizes,  _ the way a man would be attractive.  _

She is all angles: a sharp jawline, defined cheekbones, a long, sloping nose, and thick eyebrows that quirk playfully as Eddie examines her.  _ I’m attracted to her like I would be attracted to a man,  _ Eddie thinks briefly. 

_ Don’t be ridiculous. What on earth are you going on about?  _

“I mean your name. What’s your name?”

“Richie Tozier, car technician and knight in shining armor,” she grins a toothpaste advertisement grin, sticking her hand out. 

“Motorcycles are dangerous,” Eddie says as she steps forward, taking the woman’s hand and shaking it. It’s large, enveloping her own small hand, and full of veins and bruised knuckles. 

“You can have my helmet,” Richie says, rapping on the hard shell of the helmet, “I don’t mind getting my hair wet.”

It had only been a few moments since she’d taken the helmet off, but her curls already stuck to her skin, droplets of water rolling off her face. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know you,” Eddie says, her hand still in Richie’s, as if she’d forgotten to let go. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Richie replies, her voice rough and full of years of cigarette smoke. 

And Eddie really does believe her; her eyes are kind, and her hands are warm despite the pouring rain. 

She faintly remembers the story of Lot, Abram’s nephew who was kidnapped because he was living in Sodom. Abram called out the 318 trained men in his house and lodged an attack on his nephew’s captors, and brought Lot and his possessions home safely. 

Eddie is not Lot— she doesn’t have anyone like Abram, ready to protect her and fight for her if she went missing. 

Instead she swings her leg over the leather seat, accepting the helmet from Richie’s lap. 

“I live on Kansas Street. The red brick house,” she says, sliding the helmet on. 

“Wrap your arms around my waist and hold on tight,” Richie replies, “and don’t let go.”

She revs the engine as Eddie’s thin arms wrap around her leather clad waist, the two of them speeding up Pasture Road. 

Eddie’s heart immediately feels like it’s going to fly backwards out of her chest. Even with the helmet on, the wind is freezing as it slaps against her face. Her pigtails are flying behind her in an instant, the rain feeling like needles against her skin. 

_ Is this what flying feels like? _

She hears Richie cheer as they zip across Center street, hugging the sidewalk curb. It feels like they’re going at a million miles an hour, travelling at the speed of light; Eddie knows that’s not true, that they’re going maybe 35, but the wind is whipping her whole body back against the leather seat and…

And Richie. Richie feels so firm under her arms, even though she’s slender and willowy. She reminds Richie of some sort of war hero, maybe Joan of Arc— charging into the pouring rain with her helmet and her shiny black stallion, crying a loud victory cry. 

_ She’s so handsome,  _ Eddie thinks dreamily, holding on tighter as they round the corner down Kansas Street. 

It’s a ridiculous thought and she knows it, but it’s true. 

Maybe it’s just the adrenaline, though; maybe her mind moves differently when it feels like she’s traveling at 1000 miles per hour. 

“I live across from Memorial Park,” Eddie calls over the wind, the rain now pricking across their backs. 

“No problem,” Richie replies, revving her engine again. 

“But can you park like, 100 feet or so away? My mom can’t know I rode one of these.” 

“Of course, hon,” Richie gives her a thumbs up without turning towards her. Despite the wind and the rain, Eddie feels warm at the nickname, her arms still snug around Richie’s waist. 

Just before the memorial park statue is in view, Richie comes to a halt in front of the big oak tree. 

Eddie’s heart still feels like it’s beating out of her chest as she sits on the motorcycle, trying to catch her breath as Richie swings her legs off the leather seat. 

“You look good in a helmet,” Richie smiles at her, pulling the helmet off her head for her. 

Eddie can’t help the blush that creeps across her face, Richie’s grin enough to make her heart do backflips. 

“Thanks so much, really. That was… fun,” Eddie says softly, “scary, but fun.”

“You must be a virgin,” Richie says, raising an eyebrow at her. 

“ _ Excuse _ me?”

“Oh my God, a  _ motorcycle  _ virgin,” she laughs, setting a large hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “That was your first time riding one, yeah?”

“Oh. Yeah,” Eddie knows she's probably bright red by now, judging by how warm her face is and the smirk on Richie's lips. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Richie settles the helmet back on her head, “just tell me your name.”

“Sor- Pardon?”

“I just want to know your name. It’s the least I can have for giving you a ride, right?” 

Eddie quickly weighs the pros and cons, before deciding that if Richie didn’t kidnap her already, she probably wouldn’t hurt her based on knowing her name. 

“Eddie,” she says, “Eddie Kaspbrak.”

Richie swings her denim-clad leg back over the motorcycle, turning its headlights on. “Keep

riding, Eddie Kaspbrak,” she salutes her with two fingers before riding down the street, puddles exploding with water as her wheels splashed through them. 

Eddie’s evening after that was boring— Sonia had made her take a hot epsom salt bath, rubbing her shoulders with the loofah as she tittered over her, scolding her for walking home in this weather and lecturing her about the dangers of hypothermia. 

Really it just went in one ear and out the other; as Eddie’s muscles relaxed in the steam of the bath, her mind was occupied with the mysterious woman who had been her knight in leather armor that day. 

_ Where did she come from? And how have I never seen her before?  _

Also, suddenly she really, really didn’t feel like going to youth group anymore. As if worshipping God would be… wrong, after what she experienced. 

“Mom says I can’t come tonight. I had to walk home in the rain and she thinks I got hypothermia or something,” Eddie lies to Mike over the phone. “Tell Bill hi for me, okay?”

She hangs up before Mike can respond. 

Even after the hot bath, she still feels like there’s a chill deep in her bones. The TV dinner Sonia heats up doesn’t help either— as they watch  _ Jeopardy,  _ Eddie shovels the steaming mashed potatoes into her mouth thoughtlessly, her legs curled up underneath a quilt. 

“Are you alright, darling?” Sonia asks, looking up from her knitting to gaze at Eddie’s glazed stare. 

“I’m fine,” Eddie replies, “just cold.”

“Hm,” Sonia says, looking at her legs curled under the quilt, “Have you tried praying about it?” 

_ Yes, mother,  _ Eddie thinks to herself. 

“I’m going to go up to bed,” she says, collecting her plate from the side table, “I’m quite tired.”

“Goodnight, Edith,” Sonia taps her cheek, the signal painfully familiar to Eddie. 

She leans over and kisses Sonia’s cheek, holding her nose as not to get a whiff of that awful, floral perfume she insists on wearing. 

“Love you, mama.” 

“Don’t forget to say your prayers, Edith.”

As Eddie changes into her nightgown, her favorite flowy pink one, she feels a breeze blow through her window. 

_ I don’t remember leaving that open,  _ she thinks to herself, smoothing down the chiffon and shutting the window.  _ Why would I have opened it in the first place? It’s November, for goodness’ sake.  _

She lights her incense, grabs her rosary and kneels at her bed. 

_ Heavenly father,  _ Eddie begins,  _ I pray for good weather and blessings for my friends and family. Please help guide me away from sin and towards righteousness, and help me resist temptations from worldly beings and possessions.  _

Richie’s face flashes through her mind as her thumbs rub the rosary beads, smirking as if she were a characterization of Satan.

_ And please, please, let me see her one more time. In His name we pray, amen.  _

___

Saturdays are usually days for working in the garden and leading the children at church for Eddie; but she walks up freezing yet covered in a sheen of sweat, vomiting almost immediately as she opens her eyes. 

_ Oh, goodness.  _

Sonia comes running as soon as she hears her retching, carrying a cold washcloth and a bucket. Normally she would have scolded Eddie for sleeping this late, but instead she fusses over her, rubbing her back as Eddie barfs into the bucket. 

“You must have caught something from walking in that rain, you silly girl!” she huffs, pressing the washcloth to Eddie’s forehead. 

Eddie certainly doesn’t feel like she has a fever; she feels chilled to the bone, shivers racking her body. All she wants is to bury back into her covers and sleep, let the comfort of her duvet warm her body like a furnace. 

Instead Sonia is hoisting her out of her bed, leading her to the bathroom and running a steaming bath. “I’m going to call the doctor,” she says as Eddie strips down, “please be careful, honey.” 

The steam helps a bit as Eddie’s body hits the water, the heat scalding her skin in the best way. 

She’d never loved baths, to be honest. She hates looking at her body— it feels sinful to have the one she does. It’s not the kind some of the models on magazines had; she's short, and has a bit of a tummy, but her breasts are round and full, at least filling out a double D cup. She’d tried to cover them up since she was 13, and had been fairly successful: but when she’s in the bath, her reflection shining in the water above her thick thighs and shaved private parts, she is forced to reckon with the fact that she has a sexual, natural body, that God gave her as yet another challenge. 

She’s not fat, but she’s not thin— not jaw-droppingly beautiful, but not unattractive either.  _ Cute,  _ most people would say. 

Looking at her reflection in the bath makes her want to vomit more than her sickness. 

As she looks away to barf back into the bucket, she misses the glimmer behind her in the reflection; a slender figure with wild curls and long horns. 

Sonia comes back as Eddie is drying herself, carrying a new sweat free nightgown and an armful of medicines and pills. “He’s coming soon. Dress yourself and put on some makeup so you don’t look too sick,” she says, Eddie slipping on the gown and brushing her hair out. 

The idea of putting on makeup upsets her, but she pats on some blush and mascara, because God forbid a man see her unattractive. 

_ Surely forcing myself to be a faux kind of beautiful is not a part of God’s will,  _ she thinks as she pats powder across her face, covering up the sheen of sweat already coming back. 

“Dr. Wheeler will be here in about 20 minutes,” Sonia ushers her out of the bathroom, untying the braids Eddie had slept in until her hair tumbled down her shoulders. “Just lay on the couch while I give you your medicine.”

Eddie knows that half of the medicines Sonia’s giving her are placebos; she was an adult now, and not dumb enough to fall for her antics, but also not dumb enough to fight back. 

She takes her medicine without putting up a fight, smoothing the quilt over her body in an attempt to warm herself even slightly. 

Sonia turns on  _ Jeopardy _ and sits in her recliner, one hand petting Eddie’s hair. 

Eddie thinks back to Richie, her dark leather and black stallion motorcycle. How she looked like a heroine from an action movie— or a rebellious woman, as pastor Fred would say. 

_ Is this why I’m getting sick? Is God mad at me for the things I thought about that mysterious woman?  _

_ The way I wrapped my arms around her waist and thought she was Handsome?  _

The thought alone is enough to make her retch into the bucket, her chest heaving. 

Richie was warm, even in the rain and the cold, as if there was a fire burning deep inside her.  _ Maybe she is the fire,  _ Eddie thinks to herself as Alex Trebec reads out one of the clues, about some TV show Sonia never let her watch. 

_ Maybe she is the hellfire I’ll burn in one day. But oh, what a lovely way to burn.  _

Eddie’s face flushes at the thought. 

Dr. Wheeler is knocking at the door moments later, his medicine bag in hand. Sonia frets over Eddie as the doctor checks her pulse, her temperature, and has her open her mouth wide—  _ you simply don’t understand, doctor, she has a frail immune system, she could be in big danger, what if she has to go to the hospital with all those other sick people?  _

Eddie wishes she would just stop talking for once. 

“Please give me a moment,” Dr. Wheeler steps out of the room, shuffling his things back into his big duffle bag. 

_ Is this God’s punishment?  _ Eddie wonders again as Sonia collapses back into her recliner, weeping softly. 

_ This won’t just be a flu. The doctor will come back in and tell me I have tuberculosis, or mad cow disease, or AIDS, even though I’m a virgin. Virgins can get AIDS, right? God knows what I’m afraid of, and He’ll give me the worst form of whatever will kill me the slowest. And the doctor will have to tell me what it is.  _

Eddie’s breath is starting to get shallower, her whole body filling with panic and dread. 

**_Maybe he’ll tell me I have that kid cancer,_ ** **Eddie thought wildly,** **_leukemia. Goodness!_ **

She shuts her eyes and prays, voluntarily. 

_ Heavenly father,  _ she mouths,  _ please don’t punish me for the sin I committed. I know it was wrong, and that woman had bad intentions. It will never happen again, just… please don’t make me sick, please. I need to take care of Mama, I need to graduate high school and marry Bill. In His name we pray, amen.  _

The doctor comes back into the room, looking calm. 

“It’s a moderate flu. She just needs some vitamins and a few days of bedrest,” he says, relief flowing through Eddie’s body like a river. 

Sonia whispers a prayer, crossing herself as her free hand rests on Eddie’s forehead. “I’d say the best thing to do is leave her alone for a while. Let her sleep,” Dr. Wheeler says, eyeing Eddie. 

_ He knows how she treats me,  _ Eddie thinks,  _ maybe she’ll listen to him though.  _

She knows her mother probably won’t, but it’s worth a shot. 

The drugs are starting to kick in, her eyelids growing heavy as Sonia and the doctor leave the living room to make the payment. 

_ I hope she doesn’t turn the volume up on  _ Jeopardy, she thinks drowsily to herself as her vision begins to tunnel. 

The club is dark, save for the primary colored lights flashing across the walls and the floor. Silver poles shimmer in the center of the club, some of them crawling with practically nude women, their naked breasts bouncing as they dance around. 

Eddie doesn’t feel ashamed— she walks forward gracefully, feeling as if she’s floating. Her own body is partially exposed, lacy black lingerie cupping her breasts and covering her privates. 

And she still doesn’t feel embarrassed or immodest, even as she realizes it. The room is spinning, the bass thumping deep in her ears and telling her to  _ dance.  _

She throws her hands up in the air and sways, spinning around and bumping into other partygoers. They don’t scold or shout at her; they reach at her, tugging at her pigtails and groping her boobs. Someone whispers  _ such a dirty girl _ in her ear, and it’s a compliment: she turns around and kisses the person on the cheek as a thank you. 

And suddenly, the crowd parts, like Moses parting the red sea. 

But Moses is not there— no godly man would touch this place. 

Instead it’s Richie, wearing an all black suit. A whip curled in one hand and her motorcycle helmet in the other, and long, curved ram’s horns protruding from her curls. 

She sets the helmet down. 

“Hi, baby,” she coos, beckoning to Eddie with two fingers, “Come to daddy.” 

As if she’s in a trance, Eddie can’t stop her body from walking towards Richie.

The lights swirl around them like a disco as Eddie melts against Richie, her chest warm and firm under Eddie’s hands. 

When Eddie looks into Richie’s eyes, her irises are the color of hellfire. 

“Dance with me,” Richie grins to reveal a pair of long, shining fangs in place of her canines, “princess.”

“Yes, daddy,” Eddie wraps her arms around her neck, the two of them swaying to the music. The naked women have stopped dancing, pausing to watch them rock against each other to the slow tempo. 

“You need to stop lying to yourself,” Richie whispers, “give in to what you really want.”

Her breath is cold against Eddie’s ear, but Eddie doesn’t shiver. “I don’t know what I want,” she confesses, pressing closer to Richie. 

“You don’t have to. It will come to you,” she replies, “whether you want it to or not.”

She tilts her face up with a warm hand and kisses her gently, the taste of mint and cigarette smoke filling Eddie’s senses. 

The lights fall away as they kiss, Richie’s lips chilly and soft against Eddie’s mouth. The song playing is slow, bass thumping against their feet on the floor. 

And for once, for the first time in her whole life, Eddie feels clean and free of sin. It doesn’t matter what she’s done wrong and right— Richie is holding her close, kissing her like she’s her only source of oxygen. 

“I love you,” Richie whispers against her mouth, holding her lover’s lips open with her thumb. It feels like the scene Eddie once saw when she accidentally saw a porno page at Bev’s house; a younger girl and an older man in a classroom, the girl sitting on a desk with her mouth pressed open by his fingers. 

_ Fuck.  _

“I love you too,” Eddie replies, and it feels natural coming out of her mouth— more natural than it ever would with Bill, or anyone else. 

“What a shame,” Richie says softly. 

“Why is that?”

“You’re so pretty. What a shame God has to punish you,” Richie smiles, her fangs growing larger in her mouth, her nails growing long and sharp and cutting at Eddie’s mouth. 

Before Eddie can move, Richie wrenches her head to the side and bites into her neck, slow and painful. Blood flows out of Eddie’s veins and onto the dancefloor, soaking her lacy lingerie a deep shade of crimson. 

The naked women around them laugh as Richie’s teeth tear her vocal chords out, their breasts bouncing with each chuckle. 

Eddie is laying on the floor now, no longer held in Richie’s arms, it’s so cold  _ why am I so cold God where are you— _

Her eyes snap open, her body immediately rolling to the side so she can throw up into the bucket. 

_ Goodness.  _

“Oh, honey,” Sonia coos, rubbing between her shoulder blades as Eddie heaves. “Oh, my darling girl.”

Eddie realizes with a bit of horror that flecks of vomit have gotten onto her cross necklace, dangling just below her chin. 

“Come, baby. Let us pray,” Sonia clasps her daughter’s small hands in hers. “Heavenly Father…”

Eddie spaces out and makes a prayer of her own, blocking out her mother’s pleas with the Lord above.

_ Heavenly Father, what on earth was that? Please stop messing with me. I’m already so, so sick, I’ll repent again if you want me to, just… give me a sign. Tell me what I need to do. In His name we pray, amen.  _

_ You need to stop lying to yourself.  _

Eddie couldn’t take advice from a demon, but… perhaps the willowy figure that wore a mask of Richie’s face was right. 

_ But I'm not lying to myself, am I?  _ Eddie wonders as she sputters out a final cough, laying back down onto the couch. 

“I’ll grab you some more pills,” Sonia pats her forehead. 

And all of a sudden, Eddie is… fine. 

The nausea leaves her body, her muscles relaxing and un-cramping in one swift movement. Suddenly she is warm again, the sweat disappearing off her forehead— she feels rejuvenated almost, as if she’s better than she was before she got sick. 

“Eddiebear?” Sonia pauses in the doorway, watching the color return to her daughter’s cheeks. 

“I…” Eddie sits herself up, her eyes no longer drooping from the promise of sleep. “I’m fine, mama. I really am.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You were vomiting just a few minutes ago,” Sonia rushes to her side, patting frantically at her forehead. Her hand comes back without a trace of sweat, the confused look on her face indicating the vanishing of Eddie’s fever. 

“But I feel okay. I don’t— I don’t feel sick,” Eddie repeats. 

“That’s not possible,” Sonia’s face turns pale, “were you… lying to me, Eddiebear?”

“No, mama!” Eddie cries, “Thou shalt not lie. 

_ Proverbs 19:9 – A false witness shall be punished, and a liar shall be caught _ , Please, mama, I didn’t lie, I promise, you felt my fever!” 

“You wicked, wicked girl,” Sonia moans, her face a mixture of horror and disgust, “how could you lie to your own mother? Has the devil possessed your spirit?”

“No!” tears begin to trickle down Eddie’s cheeks, the smell of her own vomit becoming too much for her to handle. “I would never lie to you, mama.” 

Sonia looks at her suspiciously, as if she hadn’t just been feeling her fever and seeing her retch into the abused bucket. “Remember ephesians 6:2,” she says sternly, “go dress and get ready to work in the garden.”

Even though she’s returned to normal, Eddie feels uneasy as she picks the rhubarb from the garden, plopping them into her basket. Each brush of wind or crack of a stick startles her. of course, she’s not sure what she’s expecting; after all, the horned creature that pretended to be Richie was just in her fever dream, not in real life. 

She still found herself checking behind her shoulder as she harvested the rhubarb, fear running cold in her blood. 

“We meet again.” 

Eddie nearly jumps out of her skin at the voice, almost dropping her basket. 

Richie is parked in front of the old brick house, motorcycle between her legs. Except this time, she has no horns, no red eyes; she looks like her normal self, slender and angular. 

“Hello,” Eddie greets her shyly, holding the basket to her chest. 

She’s dressed like she was the other day: draped in black like a movie heroine, all leather and denim and a bit of black lace. 

Eddie feels quite silly across from Richie in her sunshine yellow sweater and bell bottom jeans, looking like the polar opposite of her. 

“What do you have there?” Richie gestures at her basket, her blue eyes curious. 

“Oh, they’re rhubarb plants. Mama and I grow them in the garden around this time’a year, they’re really good,

I like to make pies with them,” Eddie explains, taking one and showing it to Richie. 

“Huh,” Richie examines the fruit, turning it in her hand. “I was just in the neighborhood, I figured I’d check to see you were okay.”

“I was sick this morning. It was odd,” Eddie says, “as if I had the flu.” 

“That can happen,” Richie replies, as if they were talking about the weather. 

_ A lady oughtn’t be blunt,  _ Eddie thinks to herself, examining Richie’s profile. Even now, when she’s not cold and vulnerable, Richie looks like someone she can trust— like a moth being pulled into light, even when she doesn’t need it. 

“You- you were in my dream last night,” Eddie blurts, her face burning. “We- you were at this club, and-“

“I know,” Richie quirks an eyebrow, kicking her leg back over the motorcycle. “I’m sorry, I can’t stay long.”

“Wait, what do you mean you know?” Eddie asks, cocking her head. 

Richie just smiles that mysterious smile before she throws her helmet back on, revving her engine for show. 

“It’ll all make sense soon, sweetheart,” she says, “you just have to stop lying to yourself first.”

With that, she drives down the street, leaving a trail of gravel dust behind her. 

_ I know. You just have to stop lying to yourself first,  _ the voice in Eddie’s head repeats. She feels frozen to the ground, her knees aching as she sits in the dirt. 

_ I know. You just have to stop lying to yourself first. I know. You just have to stop lying to yourself first. I know. You just have to stop lying to yourself first.  _

___

Eddie wakes up fine on Sunday morning— no strange dreams, no vomit or chills. 

Just the unforgiving noise of her alarm clock, telling her it’s time for Church. 

She used to love getting ready for Church; Sunday mornings were always special, because she got to be pretty. Sonia would sit her at the vanity in her bedroom and curl her hair with a silver curling iron, and put her in her prettiest floral dress. She’d buckle her black Mary-Janes over her white stocking feet, and snap a little pearl necklace around her throat. 

Eddie always felt pretty on Sundays as a child, when she was dressed like a doll so the church women could coo over her. 

Now, as she pats powder onto her nose, she feels like a shell of that little girl— she’s not pretty anymore, she’s just… Eddie. She’s just the little church girl who never grew out of floral dresses and heat curled locks. 

Sonia flicks on the radio as they drive to the Derry First Baptist Church, gospel crackling through the speakers. The harmonies make Eddie’s arms break out in goosebumps; dissonant and full of hope, each singer’s voice joyful and blending with each other to create a smooth, velvet chorus. 

The church ladies are already gathered by the steps when Sonia and Eddie pull up to the chapel, chattering amongst themselves in their puffed sleeves and bright florals. 

They all giggle as they see Sonia and Eddie walk towards them, welcoming them with hugs and cheek kisses. “Oh, Miss Edith!” Martha Johnson coos, her gloved hand gripping Eddie’s shoulder, “I do declare, you look pretty as a rose today!” 

“Thank you ma’am,” Eddie smiles at her politely, blushing under the powder on her face. 

“So grown up,” Edna Mae says, “you’re not going away for college, are you Edith? It’s unladylike, and you’re shaping up to be quite the sweet little housewife.”

“Of course not,” Eddie replies, wanting to slam her head against the nearest concrete pillar. “I’ll be staying here.”

“Good. Because I heard my husband wants to speak to you after the sermon,” Edna Mae says, shimmying her shoulders. Pastor Fred was her husband—  _ I wonder what on earth he could want with me,  _ Eddie thinks before the church bells begin to ring. The ladies shuffle into the chapel, clutching their purses and sliding into the pews as Pastor Fred adjusts the microphone at the front of the congregation. 

“Let us pray,” he says, the congregation standing bowing their heads. Eddie clasps her hands over her lap as the Pastor speaks into the microphone. 

_ Our Father who art in Heaven _ , Eddie decides to do her own prayer,  _ help me stand strong in the face of adversity and temptation. Give me the strength to fight sin, and…  _

Someone’s hands are rubbing her shoulders, their palms hot. 

She whips around to see who it is— but there is no one there, just a row of parted comb-overs and floral hats. 

Sonia smacks her leg and nudges her forward, Eddie turning back around and bowing her head. 

_ Please, just help me understand what’s going on. In his name we pray, amen.  _

“Amen,” the congregation murmurs, sitting down on the hard pews. 

But Eddie can’t focus on the sermon, the Pastor’s voice sounding like a warble as her thoughts surround her. 

Before she can process it everyone is standing, filtering out of the chapel. “Go talk to Pastor Fred and ask him what he wants with you,” Sonia tells her as she shuffles past, “I’ll wait in the car.”

Eddie smooths her dress down as she straightens her posture, waving at Pastor Fred as he finishes tidying his sermon notes. 

“You wanted to see me, pastor?” she asks, her hands clasped. 

“Edith,” he smiles, “I most certainly did.”

“How may I help you?” 

“You’re an adult now,” he says, putting his notes down and looking her in the eye, “so big, compared to when I first held you as a newborn child.”

“Yep,” she chuckles nervously, twisting her fingers. 

“And as you know, Mrs. Hanscom is sick, and won’t be able to teach Sunday school for much longer.”

“Yes.”

“I need a godly woman to lead those children, Edith, you must understand,” he continues, his hand landing on her forearm, “and I think you’re the woman I want to do it.”

“Oh,” Eddie smiles, her heart sinking. 

_ Why am I upset? I’ve wanted this since I was small.  _

“I’m— I’m very flattered, pastor,” she stammers, the ground underneath her beginning to feel unsteady. 

_ Because it feels wrong. After that day in the rain, everything is wrong.  _

_ What did that woman do to me?  _

“You’ve gotten so beautiful,” the pastor pulls her closer, his large hands holding firmly onto her arms. “Look at you, so… mature.”

Eddie knows he’s referring to her breasts, and she wants to vomit. 

“Well, I thank Christ for my healthy, working body,” she says nervously, attempting to subtly wiggle away from him. 

“And if I’m being honest, Mrs. Hanscom wasn’t exactly eye candy like you are,” his eyes rake down her body, and suddenly Eddie feels nude, as if she’s performed a peep show for the pastor. 

“I should go,” she tries to tug away, but his grip only tightens. 

“Sure, you’re a godly woman, but let’s be real,” their noses are practically touching now, “I think you and I could have some real fun on the altar after hours.”

“Get off me,” Eddie says, slightly more panicked and struggling in his grip— he instead pins her against the mural painted at the front of the congregation. His hands are strong, feeling as if they’ll bruise her arms, and his breath is hot and disgusting against her face. 

“I’ll be frank, Edith. I’ve wanted to fuck that tight virgin pussy of yours since you were 14, on that day when you walked into the chapel with your tits bouncing in your dress like a whore,” he snarls, “I wanted to bend you over the altar and fuck you until you cried.”

“You’re disgusting,” Eddie whimpers, cringing as one of his hands closed around her neck. “I’ll tell my mother what you’re doing to me-“

“Do you think she’ll believe you?”

Eddie’s stomach drops into her feet as he kisses her with chapped lips, warm and blood curdling. 

“You’re a pervert. If the congregation found out, they’d- they’d-“

“ _ They’d, they’d,”  _ the pastor mocks in a high voice, his grip tightening around her throat. “They wouldn’t believe a word you’d tell them.”

He kisses her again, smashing their mouths together uncomfortably. 

“I bet you’re so fucking tight,” he says as he pulls away, “you’re waiting for marriage, aren’t you? God, I could just bend you over and stuff my cock inside your virgin cunt, make you take it like the godly woman you are.”

Eddie whimpers as the hand on her arm covers her mouth, shoving against her face and smudging her lip gloss. Her pleas are muffled as the pastor bends her over the altar, her back to the door. 

“Don’t try to run,” he says as he removes his hands briefly, only to flip her dress up her thighs, running his hands over her tight-clad butt. “You won’t get far.”

“Please,” she sobs, “don’t do this.”

He simply grabs her wrists with one hand, pinning them to her back. 

“I like it when they struggle,” he replies, his voice sinister. She registers the awful tear of her tights and underwear ripping open, her privates exposed to the cold air of the church. 

“Stop it,” she whimpers as his fingers run over her folds, “I won’t tell anyone if you just stop,  _ please.”  _

“The only reason I didn’t do this sooner is because I knew your mother would never let you stay after,” he says, ignoring her cries. “When you came in that day, barely 14, I masturbated in the bathroom to that perfect picture, of you in that silly floral dress with those massive tits flying everywhere.”

Eddie sobs again, any fight she had left in her body leaving her. 

_ Heavenly Father,  _ she shuts her eyes,  _ please, just make him stop. Please, please please. I don’t know what I did to deserve this, just please— _

Suddenly, there’s a choking sound from Pastor Fred. His grip loosens on Eddie’s wrists, yellow bruises already forming across them. 

She whips around, slowly gaining her defenses; but the pastor is frozen, a horrified expression on his face. His mouth is open in a ghastly  _ O  _ shape, eyes wide. 

Eddie looks down and gasps when she sees a long, silver blade stabbed through his chest, crimson blood dripping onto the ivory carpet. 

“Pastor…” she can’t help but whisper, reaching out to touch the blade. He rasps painfully, drawing in his last breath before he falls backwards, the blade impaling him completely. Eddie shrieks as it pushes through his body, blood spurting all over her dress and onto her face, watching the life drain out of the man who had just tried to rape her. 

“Fucking asshole. And they ask me why I hate men.”

Clad in her leather with fiery red eyes and the horns of a ram, Richie stands proudly, staring at the pastor’s lifeless body. 

Every muscle in Eddie’s body is frozen, a mixture of shock and terror. 

_ You have to stop lying to yourself.  _

“ _ What are you? _ ” She whispers in horror, blood dripping from the hem of her dress. Richie simply smiles, draping herself over a pew; just like in Eddie’s dream, she has fangs, white and shining. 

“Your guardian angel,” she replies, “and you’re welcome, by the way.”

“B-but- guardian angels. They don’t- you were in my dream, and you-“

“Okay, maybe I’m a bit unconventional,” Richie shrugs, sitting up and grabbing a handkerchief from her pocket. “Like, most guardian angels report back to God, but I don’t report back to anyone. I also think they're assigned to people, but…”

She draws closer to Eddie, mopping at the blood on her torso. “I just picked you because I liked you. I was drawn to you. You’re special, Eddie.”

Eddie is too horrified to move as Richie’s handkerchief soaks up the blood. “Also, most guardian angels aren’t demons.”

The switch finally clicks in Eddie’s brain. 

The horns, the eyes, her handsomeness, her showing up out of nowhere, her being in her dreams— the realization hits her like a truck. 

She musters enough strength to move her hand, clutching her cross necklace for dear life. 

“And after everything I’ve done for you,” Richie pouts at her, “you want to pray me away?” 

“The power of Christ compels you,” Eddie whimpers, her bottom lip trembling as Richie steps closer. 

“Does it?”

“The power of Christ compels you,” she repeats, firmer in her stance. 

“I’m not feeling it, if I’m being honest.”

“The power of christ  _ compels you!” _

“It’s not very compelling.”

Suddenly, Eddie can move again, her muscles springing into action— she pushes Richie out of the way and sprints for the door, running through the street until she makes her way to the safety of Sonia’s car. 

The blood has vanished entirely from her dress; when Sonia asks why she’s sweating, she just sighs, slumping against the car seat. 

“Pastor Fred had some very exciting news for me.” 

___

Eddie feels filthy, even as she scrubs at her skin until it turns pink in the tub. 

She can still feel his hands on her, small and cold, groping her and whispering things in her ear that no one should ever say to a young lady without her consent, much less a  _ pastor.  _

A few tears spill down her cheeks as she lathers shampoo into her hair, but she tells herself it’s just soap getting in her eyes. 

_ Besides, it could have been worse,  _ she says internally as she wraps her hair in a towel, brushing her teeth (with her two-minute timer, of course),  _ he could have gotten away with it. Richie could have shown up a moment too late.  _

_ The blade could have gone through my chest instead of his.  _

Eddie shivers as she slides her nightgown on. She’s not sure if she wants to pray, or cry, or go out into the night in her bare feet and search for Richie. 

She should be repulsed after finding out her knight in shining leather is a creature of hell; She should have pressed the metal of her crucifix into her skin, to burn her until she melted or became unrecognizable. She should have thrown herself down in front of the enormous cross and prayed until the sun went down, pleading with God for protection from evil spirits like Richie. 

_ I don’t know if God can hear me anymore.  _

She slides to her knees on the side of her bed, grabbing her rosary from her bedside table. 

“Heavenly father,” she says aloud, the beads of the rosary rubbing against her fingers, “I don’t know if you’re listening anymore, but if you are, please grant me protection from evil spirits and demons, both physical and emotional. I’m scared, and when I turn to

you you’re not there. Please, God, I need you now

more than ever. In his name we pray, amen.” 

_ Maybe it’s because I’m being selfish,  _ she thinks as she sets her rosary down,  _ maybe I haven’t been praying for others enough, and praying for myself too much.  _

She settles into bed, flicking her light switch off and waiting for sleep to overtake her. 

A slight draft breezes in through her window, ruffling her sheets. 

_ Why on earth do I keep leaving this window open?  _

As Eddie gets up to shut the window, a chill runs through her body. Her hands fall to her sides, and she’s frozen— as if someone had hit pause on her whole body. 

A sudden heat flickers in her stomach, hot and uncomfortable. 

She walks towards her bed in a zombie-like way, her legs moving stiffly. Eddie tries to move faster, to have  _ any  _ control over her body, but she’s stiff as a board; her limbs move on their own, until she’s sitting on her knees on her bed. 

_ Just relax, baby,  _ a familiar husky voice says,  _ I’m going to show you something you’ll like.  _

_ What are you?  _ Eddie attempts to move her mouth, but it feels as if her plump lips are stuck together with molasses. The heat is almost unbearable, her thighs twitching as her hands grab for a pillow.  _ What are you doing to me?  _

Whatever is controlling Eddie doesn’t reply: it simply brings her hand down to her privates, her fingers twitching until her middle and pointer stick together. 

_ Stop calling your cunt that. It’s childish.  _

If Eddie could control her body, she’d be blushing. Her fingers slide under the waistband of her panties, rubbing along her slit. 

_ You see this, Eddie? This is the pretty little virgin hole that I’m going to show you how to use.  _

Her fingers plunge into her folds, drawing a gasp out of her. It’s uncomfortable, despite what the women in the rarely-spotted porno magazines would have you think— but in an instant they’re back out again, and Eddie is staring at her hands as if they’re a foreign object. 

A sticky, clear substance is sticking to her fingers, and it breaks apart in strings as she spreads them. 

_ You see that? That’s because you’re aroused,  _ the voice says,  _ you’re horny.  _

Eddie attempts to scream, but her vocal chords are frozen. 

Instead, she reaches for the pillow on her bed, plumped and pure white. 

_ I don’t want to do this,  _ Eddie thinks as the pillow slides between her thighs, but  _ god,  _ the heat in her stomach is unbearable, and it feels as if her arousal might leak down her legs any second, and now else is she supposed to stop it?

_ It’ll feel good. Just trust daddy,  _ the voice soothes in her ear, and oddly enough, Eddie trusts it, despite her gut screaming for her not to. 

She lowers her hips onto the pillow, her covered fingers making their way into her mouth. The taste is bitter and gross, but she takes them anyway— shoving them down to the knuckle, pressing the digits against her tongue. 

_ Good girl.  _

It’s no use trying to struggle— Eddie’s hips begin to slowly grind against the pillow, warmth filling her gut as her hips swivel against the soft down. 

It feels… good, really good. 

Her vocal cords stretch freely enough to moan softly, muffled around her fingers. 

_ Doesn’t it feel nice, little angel?  _

_ I’m not an angel. Angels don’t touch themselves.  _

Her hips speed up against the pillow, her hand leaving her mouth to grip it tightly. The good feeling is building, her… her pussy throbbing with arousal. 

_ What are you?  _ she asks the voice again, whimpering as her clit rubs against the soft fabric. 

_ You know who and what I am,  _ the voice replies. 

And Eddie does know. The husky, low voice is the voice she’d hear in her dreams past and future, belonging to the woman she’d wrapped her skinny arms around that fateful day in the rain. 

_ “Richie,”  _ she gasps, humping the pillow desperately. Her nightgown has ridden up her thighs, showing the tan curve of her ass, and her nipples poke through the thin fabric; she looks like the cover of a porno movie, with her mouth open in a moan and her pigtails tied up in innocent pink bows. 

“That’s a good girl,” the voice coos, coming into Eddie’s ear as if the entity is beside of her instead of inside her soul— Eddie can’t move her head to look, but she knows Richie is sitting beside her, thin fingers caressing her lower back as she grinds her wet pussy against the pillow. 

The pressure inside Eddie’s stomach builds with each thrust against the pillow, her body warm and lit up like a livewire— Richie’s fingers ghost over her body as she whimpers, her bottom lip trembling. 

She realizes that she has more control over her body now, her vocal chords free and sex organs throbbing, but the rest of her body is frozen, only movable by Richie’s will. 

“Look at you, doing exactly as daddy asked you to,” Richie chuckles sinisterly, her breath cold against Eddie’s ear. “Of course, not like you have much of a choice.”

“I must— must resist temptation,” Eddie pants, her eyes suddenly rolling into the back of her head as a harder wave of pleasure hits her; they stay back, the whites of her eyes shining as she grinds down. 

She can’t see, she has no control of her body, and she loves it. 

“Just give in to what you need,” Richie whispers, “ _ You _

_ need to stop lying to yourself _ .”

Eddie’s tits bounce up and down like a pornstar’s as she rides the pillow, her pigtails bouncing at the same

tempo. Her tongue lolls out of her mouth as Richie’s hands reach into her panties, fingers running along her folds. 

“You look fucking possessed right now, with your eyes like that and fucking yourself like a whore,” Richie says as her fingers pick up Eddie’s arousal, “oh wait, you  _ are  _ possessed, aren’t you?” 

Her calloused fingers rub against Eddie’s clit, and Eddie squirts so hard she sees white. 

It’s quiet for a moment; she’s floating, her nightgown still hiked up around her hips. She’s looking down at herself, downy pillow sandwiched between her plump thighs, the whites of her eyes horribly exposed. 

Her mouth is wide open in a mix between a gasp and a moan, her chest heaving. Richie sits beside her, stroking her hard nipples through the thin fabric of her nightgown—

Eddie’s eyes snap open, suddenly staring at the popcorn ceiling. Her pillow is drenched between her legs, and she flushes as she throws it across the room, settling to sleep with just one pillow tonight. 

Richie is gone, and she’s not sure if she’s relieved or disappointed. 

All that's left is a breeze ruffling through her window, and the windowpane shifting as soon as she drifts off to sleep, as if someone were watching over her until she slept. 

___

“Hey,” Eddie hears a voice from behind her in the hallway that morning as she grabs her books, “Eddie.”

She turns to find Bill, with his bashful smile and fidgeting hands. 

“Hi, Bill,” she forces a smile, holding her books to her chest. Frankly, she’s  _ not  _ in the mood to get her breasts stared at right now. 

“I heard about- about your pastor. I- I’m really sorry,” he stammers, rubbing at his neck. 

Eddie holds back a cringe, her whole body tensing at the mention of Pastor Fred. 

“Thank you. He’s with our Heavenly Father now,” she grits out from her smile, “and whoever murdered him shall get his punishment on judgement day.”

“ _ We should not be like Cain, who was the evil one and murdered his brother. And why did he murder him? Because his own deeds were evil and his brother’s _

_ were righteous,”  _ Bill recites. 

“1 John 3:12,” Eddie replies, “yes, mother had me read what the good book had to say about murder.”

Sonia had sat her down in the kitchen that morning, her makeup streaking down her face with tears. She’d explained through sobs that the Pastor had been found murdered last night, stabbed right through the chest with an enormous blade. His blood had sprayed all over the pews and the mural at the front of the congregation— according to police, it seemed more like 4 or 5 people had been murdered rather than just one from all the blood. 

Someone had written on the church walls in his blood; but no one could decrypt the writing. Eddie had pretended to sniffle, delicately mopping her nonexistent tears with a kleenex. 

They’d spent all morning with the bible open on the kitchen table, Sonia reading the verses about murderers being punished and victims being avenged until Eddie had to walk to school. 

Of course, as any innocent person with nothing weighing on their consciousness would do, she had to stop and vomit into the bushes several times. 

“I know you’re probably pretty upset right now, so I was wondering if you’d like to get ice cream this week. Or go on a picnic, or something, I dunno.”

He sounds so genuine, it breaks Eddie’s heart. 

“Thanks Bill, but I’m not really in the mood. Maybe next week though,” she says, patting his shoulder in an attempt to console him. “I’m sure you understand why.”

“Of course. May Christ be with you,” he bows his head, walking away. 

The whole interaction reminds Eddie of the book they’d read in English class earlier in the year,  _ The Handmaid’s Tale.  _

She hadn’t told her mother that they were reading the book— it was an appalling piece of literature, villainizing Christianity in a society where women were nothing more than wombs and objects. The women in the book were forced to carry children for the rich and powerful, and had to dress modestly in red cloaks. Eddie had vomited several times while reading it, at first thinking it was because the way her religion was depicted was deeply upsetting to her. 

Now as she leans against her locker, she thinks to herself,  _ maybe it shouldn’t have been painted as dystopian fiction. Just look at any given small town baptist church.  _

The rest of the day passes slowly, with the occasional consolation from someone who had heard the news and hugs from the girls who went to First Baptist as well. 

It’s depressing, each comforting gesture weighing deeper on Eddie’s shoulders. 

“Hey,” Mike‘s hand is on her arm as she pushes her way out of the building, “how are you holding up?” 

Her big brown eyes are full of concern, but no sadness. It’s oddly more comforting than anything that’s been said to Eddie all day. 

“Fine,” she sighs, shrugging. 

“I’m sure you’ve been hearing people say sorry all day, and you’re probably sick of it,” she smiles, the way her lips curve making Eddie’s stomach flip. 

_ I don’t have a crush on Mike too, do I?  _

Mike  _ is  _ pretty, with perfect skin and shiny curls, and not to mention she’s probably the nicest person Eddie knows. 

_ Stop being such a- a dyke,  _ Eddie thinks to herself, wincing. 

“Yeah,” she says, “it just sucks being reminded of it constantly.”

“I’m here to talk if you ever need me, okay?” Mike’s eyes are kind, but there is no pity behind them, much to Eddie’s relief. 

They’ve reached the bus stop, and Eddie hugs Mike as the bus pulls up. 

“Thanks, Mikey,” she whispers, “that means a lot.”

Mike just smiles and waves as she steps onto the bus. 

The walk home is quiet, save for the wind rustling the crunchy leaves across the sidewalk and Eddie’s footsteps. 

She thinks of  _ The Handmaid’s Tale  _ again, how the handmaids were forced to walk in pairs.

Maybe she wouldn’t feel so alone if she had a partner to walk with. 

Like Mike. 

_ Like Richie,  _ the voice in the back of her head whispers. 

Her cheeks burn as she remembers what had happened the night before, a heat pulsing in her stomach at the memory. 

That feeling of pleasure had been so overwhelming, so powerful, that she almost finds herself yearning for it again. 

_ Masturbation is a sin,  _ the little angel on her shoulder says. 

_ Does it count if you don’t put your fingers inside yourself? You just got off by rubbing yourself on a pillow,  _ the little devil on her shoulder retorts. 

_ Stop imagining biblical creatures on your shoulders, dummy,  _ Eddie thinks, the heat between her legs throbbing anyway. 

Richie had touched her with those warm hands, rubbed her clit and whispered into her ear as if they were in a confession booth together. 

Eddie dips behind a big oak tree, her heart pounding as she cautiously lifts her skirt up. 

Her fingers rub against her crotch, feeling the damp fabric against her fingertips. 

_ Oh, no.  _

She shouldn’t be aroused— Richie  _ violated  _ her, she possessed her soul and turned her into a satanic creature. 

_ I can’t do this here,  _ Eddie thinks, her hand slipping underneath her silk panties.  _ What am I doing? _

Her fingers rub against her clit, drawing a soft moan from her lips. 

It’s filthy, her back dragging against the rough bark of the tree, but it feels like she’s lost control of her body, her hands moving with a will of their own. 

_ Good girl,  _ Richie’s voice whispers, confirming her fears. 

_ Don’t make me do this,  _ Eddie thinks weakly as her fingers rub up and down her folds, picking up her sticky arousal.  _ Please, papa, at least let me wait until we get home.  _

_ You don’t make the rules, darling,  _ Richie’s voice replies, a pair of burning warm hands wrapping around her waist. 

Her body is frozen, but the scent of mint and cologne is all too familiar. 

“Richie,” she gasps as her fingers slip between her lips, her pink-painted fingernails rubbing against her soft walls. “Please.”

_ It’s cute when you beg,  _ Richie says,  _ but you shouldn’t be talking out loud.  _

The knuckles on Eddie’s free hand are pressing against her tongue, stuffing her mouth full of fingers. 

She gags, but stays quiet as her fingers plunge into her virgin hole, penetrating her deeply and almost painfully for the first time. 

_ F-fuck,  _ Eddie thinks, much to her horror. It hurts in the best possible way; her cunt is soaked, her juices dripping down her hand. 

_ Such a good little girl for daddy,  _ Richie coos, the ghost of her hands moving up from her hips to cup Eddie’s boobs, bouncing with each thrust into her pussy.  _ Hurry up before someone catches you, babydoll.  _

Eddie’s fingers pick up their pace, her thumb kneading frantically at her clit. Her knees shake as she leans against the tree for support, the orgasm building in her stomach with each pump of her hands.

_ Cum for daddy,  _ the voice coos, and Eddie’s eyes roll all the way back into her head as her squirt drenches her thighs, giving her a ghastly, demonic look. 

Eddie is staring at herself again, jaw slack with horror at the image of her fucked-out body slumped against the trees. Her cheeks are red and her thighs drip with what she would think is pee if she didn’t know better, her eyes rolled up and making her look… possessed. 

Just like the night before, Richie is there, her slender body curled around Eddie protectively. 

It’s enough for her to snap back in her body, her muscles regaining control all at once. 

Her jaw unhinges in a horrible scream, ripping at her vocal chords. She breaks out into a run, her thighs rubbing uncomfortably at each other as she sprints away; all prayer and worship is forgotten as she runs, her mind fogged with terror and  _ Richie, Richie richie richie richie richie richie richie.  _

___

Sonia is silent at dinner that night, refusing to make eye contact with Eddie as she eats her broccoli. Normally Eddie would appreciate the silence, but Sonia seems upset at her, as if she’s done something wrong. 

It makes her stomach churn. She’s a good girl after all, isn’t she? 

“How was your day, mother?” she asks, crossing her ankles under the table. 

_ Idiot. Her pastor just died, how do you think it was? _

“I mean,” she backtracks, “what did you do today?” 

“I spent most of it at church,” Sonia replies curtly, stabbing a piece of broccoli. 

“Oh… good.” 

“You know, you were the last member of the church to see Pastor Fred alive,” Sonia says, Eddie’s stomach dropping. 

_ Shit.  _

“I wish I had known,” she bluffs, “Maybe I could have done something to stop what happened.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Sonia says, but it’s hollow, and Eddie knows she doesn’t really mean it. 

“Edith, the ladies at church and I are worried about you. We’re worried you’re losing your purity. You need salvation,” she says suddenly, Eddie’s heart sinking. 

“What do you mean, mother?”

“Well, you’re eighteen, and we’re worried that you’re discovering pleasure and sex,” she shakes her head, giving Eddie a look between pity and disgust. 

“Mother! Of course not!” Eddie gasps, her cheeks flushing. “I know that’s a sin. I'm saving myself for marriage, I always have been-“

“Don’t lie to me, Edith. I found that pillow you rubbed yourself all over,” Sonia’s voice is dark, “and that ripped pair of tights you wore to visit Pastor Fred.”

“Mother,” Eddie says, tears welling behind her eyes, “I swear, that’s not what-“

“You goddamn whore. I bet you’ll open your legs for anyone, won’t you?”

“Mother-“

“You made Pastor Fred cheat on Edna Mae, and now he’s dead because of what  _ you  _ did,” she hisses, leaning across the table and jabbing a finger into Eddie’s chest. 

“I didn’t!” Eddie cries, the tears now falling freely down her face, “mama, I promise I didn’t. He…”

“He  _ what,  _ Edith? He tripped and fell into your vagina?” 

“He forced himself onto me. He wasn’t successful, but… he tried to r-rape me.”

For once, Sonia is silent. 

“That’s why my tights were ripped. He opened them because he tried to have- have intercourse with me, and he said- he said horrible things to me, unholy things,” Eddie weeps, burying her face in her hands. “That’s why I was sweating and-“

“I knew it,” Sonia sneers, standing from the table abruptly, “you’re a whore.” 

“I didn’t want it! I’m saving myself for marriage, you know that—”

Sonia slaps her across the face, hard. 

“No daughter of mine should be tempting men like that. You damn jezebel,” she snarls, grabbing Eddie by the collar of her dress. Eddie’s cheek stings, throbbing painfully; tears stream down her face pathetically as Sonia drags her to her room, stumbling along behind the woman she’d once recognized as her mother. 

“Pray,” Sonia shoves her down onto her knees, handing her her bible and rosary. “Pray, you filthy, devilish whore.”

Eddie realizes with a flash of panic that this might be her last chance to have salvation. So she picks up the bible; and she prays, she prays hard enough to make the heavens shake. 

_ Heavenly father, please, do something, anything. I love you, I’ve devoted my life to you, I’d give my life for you, just please do something about this. Send me a sign, or a guardian angel. Bring me from my horrible sins. In his name we pray, amen.  _

“Let us read,” Sonia is next to her now, her tone softer. “Open to 1 Corinthians.”

Eddie flips her bible open to the verses in question, her hands running over the paper. “1 Corinthians 6:18. Read it.”

“Flee from sexual immorality. Every other sin a person commits is outside the body,” Eddie recites shakily, “but the sexually immoral person sins against his own body.” 

“Good. 1 Corinthians 6:9-10.”

Eddie flips through the pages, “Or do you not know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: neither the sexually immoral, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor men who p-practice homosexuality, nor thieves, nor the greedy, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor-nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God.”

“Keep going,” Sonia says sternly, “until you can’t anymore.”

Eddie lets out a sob as she leaves the room, clutching her bible in her hands. It almost feels like it burns against her palms, sizzling on her skin. 

Her final tears dry as she sets the book down, shutting it and looking away. 

She knows the truth thanks to tonight; God isn’t real. 

God abandoned her when her father died. God turns a blind eye when her mother controls her and accuses her of sinning and lying. God wasn’t there when Pastor Fred tried to violate her. 

And God hates her pleasure, and hates Richie. He hates the woman, the  _ thing  _ that had brought her salvation, washed her soul and made her anew. 

The revelation makes Eddie tear up again, slapping a hand over her mouth. 

God has abandoned her, and all she has now is Richie, with horns instead of a halo and eyes the color of hellfire instead of a key to the pearly gates. 

She grabs the crucifix from above her headboard, ripping it off the wall. It burns her hand, like a branding iron, but she grits her teeth and snaps it in half. 

God has forsaken her, and Richie is certainly no product of Christ. 

Her tears sizzle as they run down her cheeks, sobs ripping from her throat. They aren’t human sobs, they are loud and horrible and blood curdling. It’s the opposite of an angel’s gentle weeping; it is music, it is violent. 

The pain is agonizing, the wood of the crucifix burning her even after she drops it from her hand. Her tears feel as if they’re made of acid, making the skin underneath them bubble horribly. 

A figure appears in the doorway as she wails; it is not Sonia. 

She is slender and willowy, a whip curled in her hand. 

Richie smiles as she watches her baby experience the final stage, her old skin molting off of her like feathers from a bird. 

She’d been so strong for the first stages— the visits in her dreams, the sickness, the possessions. She’d surrendered to Richie completely; if Eddie had struggled just a little bit harder she would have been able to break Richie’s possession, but she  _ hadn’t. _

She’d surrendered to Richie’s power willingly, and that was all that mattered. 

Eddie screams gutturally as the last of her old skin falls from her body, her new flesh growing back quickly. 

She is glowing, her new form soft and tender. Sobs still rack her body, but she is surrounded by a halo of light that emits from her like a halo on a cathedral painting. 

Shining gold tears replace the acid that burned her skin, streaming down her face dramatically.

“Baby,” Richie sinks to the floor, kneeling by Eddie’s convulsing body, “you can let go. It is complete.”

Eddie’s once-mousy brown hair shines now, flowing in waves down her back. Her eyebags have disappeared, and she looks even younger than before— she glows, like an angel. 

“Look at you,” Richie coos, placing a gentle hand on her face. “My beautiful little demon.”

Eddie snuggles into Richie’s chest, melting against her and breathing in her scent. “I’m so proud of you,” Richie says gently, shrugging off her black suit jacket. “You did exactly as you should.”

“What did you do to me?” Eddie whimpers, quivering as Richie strokes her hair. 

“I transformed you, little one,” Richie explains, “I made you anew.”

Eddie lets out a shaky sob, her metallic tears staining against Richie’s dark dress shirt. 

“Let us pray,” Richie pulls her close, kissing the top of her head. 

The cross necklace around Eddie’s throat is just a chain now, ashes scattered across her tits. 

“Heavenly father,” Richie whispers into her hair, “fuck you for hurting this poor girl. Fuck you for keeping me from her, and fuck you for letting her be abused by the people in her life.” 

“Amen,” Eddie mumbles, clutching at the lapels of Richie’s jacket. “Amen, daddy.”

“Look at you. Finally where you’re supposed to be,” Richie pulls her up, cupping her face in her hands. “With me.”

Eddie leans forward and catches her lips against hers, kissing her like she had when Richie visited her in her fever dream. Eddie tastes like cinnamon gum and vanilla, her soft, pink lips pushing against Richie’s mouth. 

“I love you,” she whispers, her eyes flying open to reveal her irises have turned pearly white, her pupils gone. She’s succumbed to Richie completely, her face full of terror and joy. 

“You should,” Richie replies, kissing her softly again. 

Eddie’s mouth opens, her hips shimmying further down into Richie’s lap. Her tits press tantalizingly against Richie’s chest, her arms slung around Richie’s shoulders— she reminds Richie faintly of a stripper, giving her a pretty little lap dance. 

“Such a pretty baby,” she whispers against her mouth, running her hands along the soft skin of Eddie’s waist. “So good for daddy.” 

Eddie gasps as Richie’s hand comes to cup her tit, her thumb rubbing at her sensitive pink nipple. “ _ Papa,”  _ she whines, her hips rutting against Richie’s thigh. 

Another horrible scream erupts from her mouth, but Richie is unmoved. “Shh,” she consoles Eddie as she wails in pain. 

Curling white horns grow from her hair, elegant and tall like a gazelle’s. They’re spattered in blood, as most new horns are, yet they shine in the moonlight of Eddie’s room, fitting her perfectly. 

“The horns choose the demon,” Richie says as Eddie sobs against her neck, her body shaking as she weeps. 

She lays Eddie backwards, spreading her plush thighs and kissing her yet again. “Don’t focus on the pain,” she murmurs into her mouth, flicking at her nipple. 

Eddie gasps, more shining tears falling from her soulless eyes as Richie rubs against her. “Daddy,” she whimpers into Richie’s lips, her own hand coming to grab her other breast. 

Richie pulls away to look at her girl; gold drips from her cunt, soaking into the carpet. 

In an instant, Richie dives down and licks her clit; Eddie moans as Richie tongue fucks her, relishing in the sweet taste of honey against her taste buds. 

_ Demons do tend to taste sweeter than mortals.  _

Eddie’s head is thrown back, her jaw unhinged in pure pleasure as Richie’s mouth latches onto her cunt. Her thighs tremble around Richie’s head, her pussy wet and throbbing around Richie’s tongue. 

Richie knows she’ll be sensitive in her new form, yet resilient. She pushes her fingers into her pussy, fucking her open until she’s knuckles deep inside her as she slides back up to her. 

“You wanna know what the great thing about being a demon is, darling?” Richie whispers in Eddie’s ear, rubbing at the bulge in her pants. “We can change form whenever we like. Which means…” 

She licks the shell of Eddie’s ear, making her shudder. 

“...I have a gigantic, hot fucking cock for you to fuck yourself on. How does that sound, babygirl?” 

“ _ Yes,”  _ Eddie gasps, her chest heaving with each breath in. “Yes, daddy, please…!” 

Richie’s dress pants come undone by themselves, a fun party trick she learned about 200 years ago. Eddie clenches frantically around her fingers; she must be close, poor thing, gold dripping down Richie’s knuckles. 

Richie’s cock springs out, thick and long, almost like a cartoon. Her head is red and dripping with precum, and if Eddie still had pupils, they would have shrunk at the sight of it. 

“It’s so- so big,” she whimpers, “can’t you make it smaller, daddy? I’m a virgin, I haven’t even-“

“I could make it smaller,” Richie smiles at her, “but I don’t really want to.”

Eddie moans as Richie’s thumb rubs aggressively at her clit, her legs spread wide as she trembles against her lover. 

“Cum for me,” Richie whispers, pulling Eddie to her chest. “Cum for me, pretty girl.”

Eddie cums with a scream, squirting gold all over her white bed sheets. Her shoulders heave, her breath panicked and shallow. 

“Good girl,” Richie coos, turning her over. Eddie whimpers as she’s lowered onto the bed, her cunt still leaking with gold; her hair fans out on the pillow, almost like a halo. 

Richie knows this isn’t how Eddie planned on losing her virginity at all; she’d seen her planning it out in bed one night, writing down the details shamefully in her diary after she’d changed into her cotton nightgown. 

She wanted Bill to take her out to dinner (hopefully Applebee’s if she was lucky) a few days after they got married; he’d buy her flowers and pay for dinner that night. Then he’d take her home to a bed full of rose petals, and lay her down gently as Nat King Cole played in the background; he’d make sweet love to her, telling her how beautiful she was and not looking her in the eye. 

But alas, shit doesn’t work out. 

Richie kisses her hungrily, relishing in the taste of her lips. 

Eddie is still scared, though; Richie can feel her trembling underneath her, gentle weeping coming from her. 

“Don’t cry, my love,” she soothes her, stroking her cheek, “I’m here now, you understand? You’re safe.”

“What did- what did you do with Sonia?” Eddie asks, her voice soft. 

“I killed her, darling.”

“Good.” 

Richie can’t help but chuckle, kissing Eddie softly again. Her cock is hard between her legs, dragging against Eddie’s thighs; she moans against her lover at the friction, pulling Eddie’s legs open gently. “I love you,” she says, brushing a strand of hair off Eddie’s face. 

“I love you too, Richie,” Eddie sighs, her hands coming to cup the older woman’s face. 

Richie smiles before diving to kiss Eddie’s neck, kissing down the veins in her throat and across her collarbone. 

Eddie giggles melodically, her legs wrapping around Richie’s waist; tears still fall from her eyes, but neither of them are sure if they’re tears of joy or tears of pain.

It doesn’t really matter, does it? 

“I’m gonna push in,” Richie coos, pulling away to look at Eddie again. “Hold onto me, okay?” 

“Okay,” Eddie says, her blank eyes big and shining as she looks at her demon. 

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Richie soothes, the head of her cock rubbing between Eddie’s folds. 

“Stop teasing, daddy!” 

“Sorry, sorry!” she can’t help but laugh as Eddie fusses, her bubblegum pink lips pouting cutely. 

Richie just chuckles softly, wrapping a hand around herself and spitting a fat glob of spit onto her dick. 

“Ew,” Eddie’s nose wrinkles, but her face turns from disgust to shock as Richie slides into her, filling her up until her cock makes an imprint in her flat stomach. “Oh,  _ daddy!”  _

Richie huffs out a breath, her hair falling in her face as she bottoms out into Eddie. Eddie is tight, her pussy clenching around Richie’s length— her face is a mix of pain and pleasure, her eyes brimming with tears again. “Daddy, it-“

“Shh,” Richie presses a finger to Eddie’s lips, smushing them against her face so she can’t move. “Shh, just relax, darling girl.”

Eddie’s chest heaves, her cheeks flushed red; her fingers dig into Richie’s shoulders as she begins to thrust, relishing in how wet Eddie gets, just for her. 

Not Bill, or creepy old pastors, just for her daddy. 

“Please be gentle,” Eddie sighs, her cunt throbbing around Richie with each of her heartbeats. 

“You know I can’t promise you anything,” Richie simply replies before slamming her hips into Eddie, earning a scream from her lover loud enough to wake the neighbors. 

Eddie’s tits bounce like a pornstar’s as she rocks against the pillows, the imprint of Richie’s cock moving in and out of her stomach. Richie knows she should at least slow down— Eddie had never been penetrated by anything thicker than a tampon, after all— but her virgin pussy is so tight, she can’t help but slam into her like a dog in a rut. 

“ _ Daddy!”  _ Eddie shrieks, her fingernails leaving crescent moons against Richie’s skin, “It hurts, god,  _ fuck-“ _

“Shh, baby, you’ll wake the neighbors,” Richie pants, fucking erratically into Eddie, “and frankly, I try to keep my murders to one per night.”

Without a second thought, she reaches down to rub Eddie’s clit, flushed pink and quivering pathetically. The look on Eddie’s face morphs from pain into pleasure, her shiny tears spilling down her face; she looks like a mural you’d find in a church, her skin smooth like porcelain, her hair in a halo around her head and breasts exposed proudly. 

“My pretty baby,” it comes out of Richie as a growl, her thumb rubbing slow circles against Eddie’s clit as she fucks hard and deep into her. Eddie looks about ready to split in half on her daddy’s cock, poor thing; the image makes a demonic ferocity bubble in Richie’s chest, a sudden urge to claim Eddie for herself. 

Before she can stop herself, her face is in the crook of Eddie’s neck— her teeth sink into the soft skin of her baby’s throat, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth as she marks Eddie with her bite. 

Eddie screams again, a mix of pain and pleasure; it’s a symphony to Richie’s ears, piercing and beautiful. She sucks in her lover’s blood, relishing in the bitter taste of  _ Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.  _

Richie’d kill her, one day— even demons can die eventually. 

But not today. Richie likes to play with her food before she eats it, and Eddie would be good to have around for a while. 

She pulls away, blood dripping down her chin: Eddie simply smiles at her, her blank eyes sending chills down Richie’s spine. 

“You’re so good for me,” Richie grunts, looking at her lover one last time before the heat in her stomach starts to build, “you gonna cum, baby?”

“Yes,” Eddie pants, her legs shaking around Richie’s waist, “yes, daddy,  _ oh!”  _

“Fuck,” It had been ages since Richie had fucked a virgin, and she’d forgotten how  _ good  _ it was; they were might tighter than the jezebels and whores who strutted around in the afterlife, and the prostitues who roamed the street in the living world. 

“Cum inside me, daddy. Make me fucking full, stuff me full of your babies, please,  _ please,  _ I need it—“ Eddie babbles, and it’s enough to tip Richie over the edge, her orgasm crashing over her body as she buries herself inside her lover. 

“Fuck!” she moans, holding Eddie close as she sees white, her chest heaving. “Fuck, baby.” 

She has to pull out, much to Eddie’s chagrin; her cock is covered in cold, Eddie’s arousal dripping off of her length. 

Eddie lays panting on the bed, thighs spread wide and cum oozing from her fucked-open hole. “Daddy,” she breathes, “can you… can you finish me? please?” 

She looks at Richie with those enormous eyes, and fuck, how can any demon say no to that? 

“Come here,” Richie beckons, patting her leg. Eddie does so obediently, Richie’s thick cum dripping down her thighs; she sits on her thigh, tits pressed against Richie’s chest. “Grind down.”

“But daddy-“

“Well?” 

Eddie whimpers as her hips begin to roll, burying her face into Richie’s shoulder. Her noises are soft and almost innocent, and Richie can’t help but coo at her as she gets off against her thigh. 

“Aren’t you such a good girl?” she asks tauntingly, before tilting Eddie’s neck and licking at her still bleeding wound. Eddie whines, high and breathy against Richie’s ear; her hips move faster, already close. “Cum for me, darling.”

Eddie moans pathetically as her hips stutter, squirting all over Richie’s leg. Her whole body is warm, almost like a furnace against her lover— Richie holds her tight, hugging her fiercely. 

“I love you,” Eddie gasps, “I love you so much, daddy.”

“I know, my love.”

Silence settles between them, save for Eddie’s panting breaths, before she speaks again—

“Where- where do we go from here?” 

“We go to hell from here.”

Eddie giggles as Richie lays her back down onto the bed, pulling the soft comforter over the two of them. 

Eddie had wondered what the consequences of not believing in god were when she was a child. 

_ Maybe,  _ she thinks, snuggling up against Richie,  _ the consequence is more of a reward.  _

**Author's Note:**

> big thanks to laura @alcxhardy for being my editor! thank you to the discord server for helping me write too. come hang out with me on tumblr @sweetheartkaspbrak ! i love you guys, and thank you so much for reading :)


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